


Become who you want. Not who you were meant to be.

by EggFriedReus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 09:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggFriedReus/pseuds/EggFriedReus
Summary: An older, more mature and brutal Harry Potter is cast over his younger brother. Primed with a magical sword and his wits.. Harry must fight for himself - and everyone else if no one else decides to do literally anything!





	Become who you want. Not who you were meant to be.

They said it would be an easy job. Slip in, slip out. One man. He’d already be in position. Waiting for someone to arrive. It was almost perfect, so how in the fuck did Conrad do it wrong?

He blanked out his brain into black thoughts. A few hours flickered past in mere milliseconds and he watched his experience like a recorded video.

His own tightly metal-clad arm reached forward onto the fools shoulder. A gruff jolting pull made the idiot stumble into the wall on their left. The impale was swift and forceful. He guessed he punctured a lung and broke most of his ribs, and that was only judging by the wheezed panting, linked with the sickening crunch that had lit up the night.

He retrieved his trusty blade from the depths of the man's chest in another clean movement. This time it didn’t catch on any bone as it had for the last man. That’s how Conrad had got his last scar: a fine gash across his left bicep -due to a caught sword not letting him parry his enemies spell. He was lucky that it was only a slice along his bicep and not instant death like he had become so used to deal with. Especially in his business.

What was his business, you ask? Death Eater removal. At the age of 19, with his brother having been thrown into multiple death traps at the English version of Beauxbatons, Conrad decided to busy himself before the inevitable all-out magical war. So far, on his own, he had dealt with the entire Malfoy line - and any jittering branches off of it with swift fashion. An entire breed of stuck up twats now resided, trampled and in barrels of Coca-Cola underneath their manor.

He had, of course, ransacked the place, gained himself an elf, and thrown the groups' bodies; finely cut up with elegance due to his intense potions lessons, to decay in the muggle soda. Was it petty? No. It was what they deserved. If you were a dickhead, you don’t get a chance to reverse that, have fun in Hell...

Past-Conrad stirs out of his thoughts at the flicker on of a magical torch bordering the Knockturn Alley pub wall. The older man at the door calls out to him, asking what he’s doing and who’s that next to him. ‘Too bad.’ Thinks Conrad. ‘No witnesses’ he promised himself. He sheathes his proper sword along his back, right shoulder peaking up with the handle now visible. The man takes a step forward, and that’s where Conrad really draws the line. A flick of his left wrist sends a fired blade into the man's gullet. Words quite literally die on his breathe, before the man's actual final breathe.

Mercilessly, Conrad rips the weapon back out of the man's neck through the other side. He had closed the distance incredibly quickly. The body never even had enough time to hit the floor before he was over on the other side of the alley’s t-junction. Once more he found himself muffling and assisting the body onto the floor as to not cause any more noise - and unnecessary murders. Two out of one was rather rare now, didn’t want to make it three - or did he?

He spun on his heel and fired a silent spell, invisible in the late night, at the disturbance he could feel behind him. Another wash wave of magic told him that the something had halted his spell. A very experienced magic user then. He tilted and curls his head at the same time. ‘Fuck.’ So that’s who it was. “You shouldn’t be here.” He decided on.

Many things we’re currently tempting him to spin around, teleport behind the man in a black flash and pierce the soul on his blade-like he had done for the others. However this particular person he would keep around. That would be a pity: for everyone involved if this particular man was to leave this plane of existence so soon. Therefore he restricted himself against the temptation and listened for the other's response.

“Neither should you.” Came the reply. A tone that he recognised so well in the voice. Now it was almost poisonous to his ears: that all-knowing, caring, and pitying voice. He related it to his birthers; unworthy now of their titles of mother and father.

“I had a contract,” Conrad said, not moving from his solid stance in the slightest, even despite the others continuous attempts to mind-rape him. He smiled the most he had in a few months as the man tried once more, harder this time, to penetrate his mental defences. It was a thin gruesome smile, one of those upon an evil victory or once a non-compassionate deed had been done.

His encounterer exhaled stiffly. An annoyance was in the back of their throat and threatening to peak out through his cool exterior. Conrad intended to break the ones around this man. Mentally, physically, emotionally... Anyone who he didn’t like would feel the pain and wrath of sins “That doesn’t change anything, this is not who you were meant to be.”

Conrad breathes out tiredly. He had had this conversation too many times, had told the same story over and over to Albus. Every year it was the same. “I won’t hurt you.” The old man announces, and Conrad gets the urge to nod but denies it. He remains blank and in the course of his actions leaves Dumbledore wondering whether he heard him.

“And out of my respect for you, I will do the same.” Still in his peripheral, he watches the experienced wand wielder sheathe his magical stick with an elderly grace. Dumbledore nods. “It is unwise to be defenceless in these parts Albus. I trust you understand that?” Albus nods again, a tiny smile on the edge of his lips.

“I understand. These parts of the alley are not for the faint-hearted.” Dumbledore flicks out his wand in an obvious manner, to show that he means no harm. A dim glow softly brightens up in levels around the alley. The origin point is the wand and its caster however the spells tangling reach is far along the crumbling walls. “Knoktail alley isn’t the most private place for a conversation, is it? Perhaps we continue in Sweeney’s?”


End file.
